Sleep
by Erikthephantom07
Summary: Inception fic. Eames can't sleep and misery loves company. No pairings.


Sleep

Eames couldn't sleep.

He'd honestly tried everything: warm milk, counting sheep, at least 4 different pillows. Nothing helped.

This wasn't too infrequent of an occurrence for him. If he was not on a Job, his sleeping was relatively normal, lifestyle considered. If he was on a Job, especially with Cobb, damned if he could get more than a wink.

And of course, there was no Job like inception and thus, Eames couldn't sleep.

Arthur was asleep, damn bastard. Slept like the dead, probably because there was little to nothing going on in his brain that couldn't be carefully compartmentalized and tucked away into color-coded shelves for the evening.

When Eames arrived at HQ at 0332 to find Arthur asleep over some maze or other of Ariadne's, Eames tried his very best, which on a good day was near-genius level and a bad day passably brilliant, to wake the sleeping Point Man.

Misery loves company, after all.

"Not your company," Arthur groaned from the pillow of his shirt sleeve.

Honest to God, Eames hadn't realized he'd said anything out loud.

"You've been mumbling since you started kicking over furniture." Arthur raised his head to survey Eames blearily. "You drunk?"

Eames had forgot he'd been drinking, too, but there he was, bottle in hand and halfway in the bag.

"Can't sleep?" Arthur yawned.

"What gave me away?" There. He was conscious of that witty retort. With a smug smile that lost little to discretion he sat on Arthur's table, effectively ending any sliver of hope the latter'd had of returning to his dreamless sleep.

"Are you telling me you marched all the way from your hotel on Montmartre to this warehouse across the river just to bother me? Without shoes?"

Arthur was doing that face, that pursed lip, scrunched eyes face that just screamed angry librarian. And how had he forgotten shoes?

"Just not my night, is it?" Eames muttered to his muddied socks.

"Can you please take the filth of Paris off of level two?"

Eames complied. Now that his mind was somewhat engaged he was surprisingly docile. He just sat staring at the filth of Paris until Arthur was compelled to ask, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else, because really, Arthur had to know. Everything. No matter how much he didn't want to know. When there was something, some mystery or question that presented itself day in and day out he had to understand _why. _Cobb had his curiosity and Eames had his imagination but Arthur had an insatiable need for things to make neat and ordered sense. Which was funny considering his line of work but there it is.

"Eames! Jesus, stop psychoanalyzing and move your damned feet!"

Eames tried to focus. "I thought you were going to ask a question?"

"Was _that_ a question?"

"It could be."

"What does that even - move your damn feet."

Eames complied. He'd thought he'd moved them anyway. "You should try sleeping in a bed, Arthur, might make you more agreeable and less prone to osteoarthritis in the future."

"You're talking. A lot of good it did you."

"Least I tried. Hardly my fault if it didn't take, now is it? And I'm amiable enough."

But dammit, Eames was right. Arthur really _did_ have to know why. To everything. "Is it because of Browning?"

"That I'm amiable?" Eames laughed. Or guffawed. Either way there was some Scotch on Arthur's pristine shirt. "Christ no, he's an awful bore."

"That you can't sleep," Arthur reiterated, wiping futilely at his shirt.

"I'm not kept up with images of him dancing around in my head, if that's what you mean." Eames grimaced. "Course, now that I said it I can't get that image out of my head so thanks, Arthur. Real solid."

"Stop evading," Arthur snapped, shaking that same image out of his head. "You got like this on our last job - never shutting up -"

"Well that's certainly not exclusive to work -"

" - and never sleeping. Half the time I'm not sure who I'm talking to."

"You might want to get that checked out, then."

"Have you ever thought that maybe you can't sleep because the whole day you're someone else and when it's time to decompress, your own thoughts - not Browning's, or anyone else's, wonderful and enlightening they undoubtedly are, come rushing to the surface?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was that a question?"

"Are you going to answer it?"

"No."

"Fine. Can't you bother someone else?"

"I did try but then the bobbies showed up and I made a hasty retreat - where's my bottle?"

"I took it. Grab a chaise and go to sleep, Eames. I'm trying to work."

Neither of them believed that.

"Wait!" Eames nearly shouted. And by nearly, Arthur swore he himself was about to have a heart attack. He took a swing out of Eames' bottle. It tasted bitter and salty and smoky. The alcohol wasn't bad either.

"If your theory is correct, and I do in fact not sleep while working because I'm thinking like someone else 'the whole day,' I must be extremely dedicated to my job and not, as some people like to frequently point out, 'slacking.'"

Arthur took another swig. He'd walked into that one. And Eames had picked up on it, more than halfway in the bag. Damn.

"What the hell are you two doing?" A groggy and worse-for-wear Cobb stood in the doorway of his makeshift office. "Did you call me worse-for-wear? Arthur, is he drunk?" And then he spied the incriminating bottle inches from Arthur's mouth. "Can't you both get some sleep so we can actually crack this thing in the near future?"

"Apparently I work too much," Eames stated solemnly, reaching for the bottle. Arthur swatted at his hand.

"We were sleeping, Cobb," Arthur nodded. "Just took a break."

Cobb furrowed his brow. "You were sleeping…what, together?"

"Yep," Eames snatched that as quickly as expected. "Just needed to stretch his legs, the little cupcake. Bit sore after a long shag- "

"Shut up!" Arthur snapped. "NO, Cobb, I was sleeping, and then he came in, and -"

"Eames," Cobb ordered and pointed to the lawn chaise they used for work. "Chaise. Sleep. Now. Arthur, you too."

"Oh, I love it when you order me around," Eames purred, but got up to obey.

"I just said the same thing not five minutes ago and you didn't listen!"

"Sorry, just couldn't take my eyes off you, darling," Eames shrugged, lightly patting Arthur's cheek.

Arthur pushed him away. "I do not get paid enough for this."

When the others came in later that morning, Eames and Arthur were happily asleep on the two chaises, and Cobb told everyone they were sleeping together.

Note: I just saw the movie last night. Scoured for fanfiction, could barely find anything, so I made this. It's not much and it probably doesn't make sense but I can't bloody sleep either so maybe this'll help. Enjoy!


End file.
